Monday, August 9, 2010

Adventures off the Grid

Another day, another beach.  I wished all the goodness of my heart to the beautiful people I had met in Praia de Tofo, but it was time to move on. We headed North on the only good road in Mozambique and found shelter in Vilanculos. The road was getting progressively worse. We had weaved all over the road avoiding potholes that would have ripped axles, wheels and whatever it could have snatched, right off. We pulled into a little compound by the ocean to call home for a few days. The sight of an outdoor shower in the middle of the walled compound brought a smile to my face. As we had been camping by the sea, with no facilities to speak of in Praia de Tofo, a good scrubbing was in order. On checking in, it was suggested by the people that ran the camp to shower in the afternoon. A morning shower would be cold, as the large bucket was filled every morning. By afternoon, the water would have had a chance to warm up, therefore sun, soap and  sun-warmed water would cleanse our bodies and souls. Point noted. I luxuriated in a warm, sunlit soak later that afternoon and felt like a new woman.
First though, we stowed belongings in our quickly erected tents and went off to explore our new home. Again the locals seemed warm and friendly, with smiles offered from all we met. The charms of Mozambique were certainly working their magic on me. Unfortunately, other factors were working on Brett again though. Our first night there was a sleepless one for him, with little sleep attained by the rest of our travelling band, as we watched him writhe in pain. It was obvious that the kidney stones had not worked their way out yet. He needed to get medical attention. There was a small clinic in the village, but this would not be enough to help Brett.  The problem that we quickly discovered  was that there was not even a telephone here. The closest phone was in Inhambane, which was where we had left the day before; a full day’s drive away. We scrambled around town trying to figure out a course of action and discovered a small airstrip. Our hopes were dashed to discover a flight out, but full up. To charter a flight to Johannesburg would cost $1500 US and without a phone to call Brett’s health insurance company to get them to pay for the flight, it was a moot point. We did not have the cash between us to pay for it and that was the only method of payment they accepted. Brett could barely stand and had trouble catching a full breathe. It was decided that we would get him on the bus back down to Maputo where he could catch a flight to Johannesburg. Miki and I gave him money enough to get him there and prayed that he would be able to withstand the journey that led to salvation.
With teary eyes, we watched the bus depart headed South. In the hurried rush to get our ailing travelling companion attended to, we had made a rough plan. Brett would take the bus to Maputo, then continue on a flight to Johannesburg. We knew there that he would be able to find modern medical assistance to tend to his ills. Once recovered, he would make his way back up to Harare, Zimbabwe where we would reconnect. In the mean time, Miki and I, along with Oliver and a new Aussie travelling companion by the name of Rob, would make our way North. The dreaded highway towards Beira would be tackled and we would veer off towards Zimbabwe and eventually Brett.
Praying that Brett would be recovered soon, but knowing that we would have a stretch before we saw him again, we tried to distract ourselves by taking in the sights. We bumped into travellers that we had met back in Tofo, and they convinced us to take in a dhow excursion to Magaruque.  A dhow was described to us as a local sailboat. While it sounded enchanting, the day was not. The dhow was absolutely ancient and very tippy. The day was sunny and beautiful, but hot. We found shelter under beach umbrellas at a hotel in the middle of nowhere, but got run off by a very angry hotel manager. The next closest patch of shade did not accommodate the seven of us very well, so we moved on to snorkelling. It was magnificent, but we returned to our dhow captains dehydrated and severely scraped by coral, only to find that we had misunderstood our arranged meeting time. We had thought they had said 3pm, but were informed by the angry men that we were supposed to have returned at 13:00. Oops. With a new experience under our belts, we bid adieu to the day. A rough road lay ahead of us and we would need a good sleep to give us the strength to withstand the next leg of our journey.

Sunday, August 8, 2010

Dragonfly's Repose




Are you looking at me?
What do you see?

Hiding behind a leaf so shy
I stare at you and wonder why






High flying stunts and wings of light
don't grace my world and give me flight.











But with a stare so big I have to say
perhaps I should just stay away.

Saturday, August 7, 2010

Wiping the dust off the canner

Wiping the dust off the canner
~


Well, it's that time again. Somehow my day seems to be slipping by without notice, but I am on it. Yup, today is day 1 of pickle making. I bought a whack of pickling cukes yesterday. At 1:30 I am finally ready to start, barring any distractions. Dill pickles should be setting up in shiny jars by the end of the day, with sweet pickles to be made shortly after (or tomorrow?). So no time for wasting; a pickling I go! Happy Six Word Saturday! Hope your day is a success.

Friday, August 6, 2010

The Watering Can

   I filled my old watering can up at the new tap that I had installed just that afternoon. The old one had dripped horribly and no amount of elbow grease or washers would stop the leak. There wasn't a problem that I couldn't tackle, so I set to the task and fixed it myself. Water droplets glistened off of the old tin, as I slaked the thirst of my precious ferns. I surveyed my gardens, looking to see which of my other beloved plants needed a drink, when my eyes drifted past the road at the bottom of my mossy front steps. A car was jerking to a stop. I set the watering can down on the ledge at the top of the stairs, as I walked by it. I stared forlornly at the car on the curb. Not again. Its dented fender and chipped paint bespoke of distraction and disregard. Nothing had changed. I saw the disheveled figure behind the driver's seat desperately straightening errant hair and checking lipstick. Like it mattered. The fact that she was here spoke volumes. No amount of rouge or hairspray could hide the fact that it had happened again. I sighed as I descended the steps towards her rusted old Buick. How many more years would she get out of it, I wondered. As many years as she could push.

   "That's quite the bruise that you are going to end up with," I stated.

   I had reached the curb just as she was unfolding her long legs from the rumpled interior.  I saw pain, fear, sorrow and anger flash across her face before she quickly replaced it with a look of surprise and nonchalance. 

   "I... I bumped into the cupboard door," she replied hastily. "It's nothing."

   A smile splashed across her face, as she flung her arms open. I couldn't help but think that it looked rehearsed.

   "Are you going to greet me or not Sis?!" she pouted with a smirk.

   A crooked smile crept across my tired eyes. I loved her so much it hurt, especially at moments like this. I knew that snippets of the story would emerge over the next few days. The images would be glossed with her mistakes, her failings and all that she could and should have done. I hated her in these moments. Not because she had let it happen, but because she could not stop it from happening, and I let her go back again and again. I felt I failed her as much as she failed herself and of course HIM. His name was always spit through my teeth. It didn't help. I offered sanctuary, reprieve, a new beginning... but when the phone rang after she had been there for several days it was always the same. He apologized, said he loved her and that it would never happen again. Things would be different; better. But her battered old Buick kept on showing up on my curb again and again. I kept wondering how much more it could take. Or her. Or me. There did not seem to be an easy fix to this problem. No washer to ebb the tide.

   With hugs and tears, I watched the beaten up old car pull away from the curb. She had been here for almost a week this time. I thought that I had gotten through to her somehow. I hoped that maybe she would be able to find her own feet, but her taillights blinked as she turned the corner. I brushed the tear that quietly crept toward my chin with the back of my hand. I glanced down at my weathered skin. Water. Yes. I climbed back up my mossy steps and picked up the watering can that I had abandoned the week before. Only a week, and yet my ferns had already started to grow over the empty vessel. They were trying to hide the dents and battle scars. I sighed again. 

"Perhaps tomorrow will be a new day," I mused as I filled the watering can and returned to the ferns that shaded my heart from the hurt that seemed never to heal.


This is in response to the prompt over at Magpie Tales. Go check it out and see what others have to offer.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

The Snake Bit Me

I just rolled out of bed. It is noonish.
   yawwnnnn....

Before you punish me with an abusive tirade on my slothfulness, I will add that I had only returned to bed around 10 o'clock. That after a night spent holding long, golden locks out of the line of fire over a toilet bowl. Oh, and also developing a dainty little blister on my thumb from trying to play plumber at 4am. I don't know if it is me that just doesn't have the knack with a snake (or toilet auger as the packaging states) or me that is an idiot to self-diagnose toilet issues, or me with a God complex that thinks she can do anything, that is at fault here. Apparently it doesn't matter, as the one thing I can do is laundry and the pile was quite large this morning. sigh... Full of towels used to mop the floor, splattered rugs and bedskirts and all the sheets off of another bed that was soaked through with pee. That announcement came at 7:30am, after I had finally fallen asleep at 6:30 praying that my daughter would not wake and splatter me with ... ugh never mind

So I am tired and wondering why the world seems to be pushing me so hard. I am not a plumber or doctor, roofer or general contractor (other issues that need tending to in my house- don't ask). It seems that I am being asked to step up to the plate to decide what I want to be though. My daughter will recover from her night of woe, but my money tree is quaking in fear as I tally the expenditures that are all imminent. I think that I might have to break down and push myself harder than I would like right about now. The world is pushing for action. An honest to goodness full-time job has been something I have been trying to avoid, but I feel that I have lost my battle. 

house 3 - Mama 0

damn

=============================================

P.S. Over a quick beer with my neighbour to get the run-down on which plants my girls need to water while she is away, I was reminded of the fact that another neighbour is a retired plumber. Oh. Yeah. Right. And another is a contractor. Really? Hunh. It looks like I shall be wandering the neighbourhood this weekend with a cooler full of adult bevereages and blank cheques inquiring if anyone has a moment to help a friend in need...

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